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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24669181">An Inconvenient Flame</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/biscuitysguise/pseuds/biscuitysguise'>biscuitysguise</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Happy birthday Mira, Hickeys, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, They both have supportive teammates, They're also rivals, They're both pro players, This wasn't supposed to be this long on god, for a pwp acc . that's a lot of plot, guys this is not realistic at all, i apologise for nothing, no homophobia!! bc i do not like, plot with some porn, sort of canon compliant but kinda not, teasing across the net, the explicit stuff is mostly a handjob slash blowjob in the bathroom, there is also a shower scene at the end :), they're the only ones in there thank GOD, ummmmm oh christ what else</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:35:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,346</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24669181</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/biscuitysguise/pseuds/biscuitysguise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Playing on a team with his best friend is something that Tooru's used to. </p><p>Playing on a team against his best friend... that's a little more interesting. And a lot more difficult.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>167</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>An Inconvenient Flame</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tooru wakes to the feeling of fingers tracing along his spine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is one of his favourite positions to wake up in; he’s curled up against Hajime, his Hajime, one arm tucked under his pillow and the other between their warmth. He loves waking up and instantly feeling the heat of another person at his side, and he especially loves the feeling of Hajime’s fingers running lightly across his skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has so many sensitive areas on his body, and Hajime knows them all. His fingers drift from Tooru’s spine to his hip, sliding up his waist and against his ribs, up to his pec. He lightly scrapes his nails against the side of the muscle before drifting down to a bare nipple and brushing past it. Tooru can feel Hajime’s smile - even with his eyes closed, he knows exactly what face that man is making  - as he watches the sensitive area slowly firm up under the touch of his cold fingers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Tooru,” Hajime whispers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru’s eyelashes flutter open as he gently presses a nail into his already pebbled nipple. He whines softly. “Hajime....” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shall I make breakfast?” Hajime continues brushing his thumb across the sensitive skin, while Tooru’s hips begin to jump. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru grabs his hand and fully opens his eyes to send Hajime a glare. “You should take care of the problem that you’re causing,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you idiot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“With my cold fingers?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru looks up at him, brows still furrowed. “I never said anything about that!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime’s smile takes over his features, and Tooru has a hard time maintaining his scowl when the brightness of his smile rivals the brightness of the sun. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No matter how many times he’s heard it, Hajime’s giggle always makes his stomach flutter and his toes tingle. How the hell did he get so lucky? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C’mere, ‘m soft.” Tooru opens his arms for a hug.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime plants a kiss on his forehead and pulls away, taking any remaining semblance of “soft” with him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thought you were needy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I thought you cared about me, but here we are,” Tooru pouts. “Fuckin’ jackass.” He watched as Hajime rolls out of bed and stands, his boxer briefs low on his hips and perfectly outlining the curve of his ass. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime makes an impressive figure, tanned skin glowing in the morning light escaping from the curtains. His muscles are defined by the shades of shadows, back and biceps and thighs rippling with potential power. He turns back to Tooru with a shirt in his hands, ready to be pulled over his head, but the damage is already done. The shadows are darker underneath his built pecs, and in the creases of his toned abs. Tooru groans and pulls his pillow over his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s too early for this,” he whines into the fabric, jumping (and definitely not squealing) as Hajime runs his fingers down Tooru’s exposed torso. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime laughs again, and tugs the pillow away from Tooru’s tight grip, setting it on his side of the bed before caging Tooru between his arms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru gulps at the sight of skin and muscle so tantalisingly close, shirt somewhere forgotten on the bed. He wants to reach out and grab at it, to bite at it and mark it up, to claim this man as his own. Before he can do much more than lick his lips, though, he notices Hajime tracking his every move. His eyes follow the pink slip of Tooru’s tongue against his lip for a second time, and then a third just for good measure. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you know what you do to me?” Hajime murmurs, gently tilting Tooru’s chin up with his index finger and pulling at his bottom lip with his thumb. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d hope it’s something good,” Tooru hums in reply. Hajime’s so close - so close, way too close to resist doing anything. He reaches up to loop his hands behind Hajime’s neck and pulls him down, surprising him enough that Tooru can roll on top. “Is it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime’s pupils slowly dilate, blowing wide until there’s only a thin ring of iris around the dark well of his pupil. He exhales forcibly before inhaling shakily (which pretty much sums up exactly how Tooru feels too). “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, it is.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good enough to get you to take care of me?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His small smile is a thing of beauty. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru probably won’t ever stop saying that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good try, babe,” Hajime says, grabbing Tooru’s hips and lifting him off so he can roll out from underneath. He grabs his discarded shirt from the blanket and squeezes Tooru’s foot, making him shriek. “You’re lucky I love you,” he says with a laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hajime,” Tooru whines. “You know I’m ticklish, asshole.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I sure do,” Hajime replies, moving closer again after pulling the shirt over the soft spikes of his hair. “And you know I love tickling you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you dare,” Tooru whispers, repeating it and growing louder each time until he’s practically screaming. “Don’t you dare!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime grins and reaches for Tooru’s side, wiggling his fingers into his waist. He pulls back as Tooru starts to flail, stepping out of the way to avoid imminent harm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Iwaizumi Hajime, you complete and utter </span>
  <em>
    <span>ass,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tooru calls as Hajime waves to him from the doorway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re lucky I’m an ass who’s willing to make you breakfast!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru huffs out a sigh, grumbling as he grabs at his pillow again. What an asshole. “You’d better be making me pancakes!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,” comes the muffled reply from the kitchen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru can hear as he pulls a pan from the cupboard and slam it on the stovetop, distant talking coming from the kitchen; he’s probably saying something about how he should get up if he wants any breakfast at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiles gently as he twists his ring around on his finger, watching the morning light shine off of it before hauling himself out of bed and wandering to the kitchen, only to wrap himself around his husband while mumbling something about helping. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They sadly don’t get to hang around and be lazy for much of the day; they both have a job to do. Luckily, they’re going to the same spot. The ride there is fine - Hajime holds onto a railing and Tooru holds onto Hajime - but the slightest fluttering of butterflies begins to fill Tooru’s stomach as the arena looms in front of them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hajime,” Tooru whispers as they step into the cool shadow of the building, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “I’m getting nervous.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dumbass,” Hajime replies fondly, squeezing his hand and tugging him forward. “Either way, we’ll come out on top.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One of us will,” Tooru corrects, eyebrows raised as he looks his husband in the eye. “The other of us is going to have to fulfil the bet.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime snickers lightly. “Yeah, okay, you have a point.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru sighs and follows Hajime’s lead into the building. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The temperature difference is immediately noticeable, the sweat that had been beading at his hairline turning chilly under a blast of air conditioning. He brushes his sleeve across his forehead to get rid of it, already shivering, though not necessarily from the cold. His stomach is twisting itself into knots at the idea of the hours ahead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can’t lose this bet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“So, the game tomorrow,” Hajime said, pressing tender kisses against the soft skin of Tooru’s neck. “One of us has to win.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And the other has to lose, obviously,” Tooru replied, rolling his eyes. “It’s not rocket science.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, please. Like you know anything about rocket science.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bet I know more than you, mister Godzilla-is-enough-space-talk-for-me.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Godzilla and SpaceGodzilla are two different monsters, Tooru. Dumbass.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, my bad. Clearly you must know about the ocean then, too.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“More than you, space nerd.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Whatever,” Tooru cut in before Hajime could continue. “One of us has to lose tomorrow.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bet it won’t be me!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“How could you possibly know?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Just a wild hypothesis.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“A hypothesis? You can’t make a bet for a hypothesis!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What would you know about it?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello? Space nerd?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fine, fine,” Hajime laughed. “A theory, then.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tooru rolled his eyes but relented. “Fine. You have a theory - which is a bet - that you won’t lose.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hajime nodded against Tooru’s collarbone before nipping at the skin there and drawing a gasp from his parted lips. “Mhm. Bet I win.” A couple more bites traced up to the column of Tooru’s neck before he sucked a hickey into it. “Oh, the look on your face when you lose….” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“‘M not gonna lose, Iwa-chan!” Tooru‘s breath hitched in his throat, and he threaded his fingers into Hajime’s hair as he continued sucking at the hickey. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Whatever you say, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Iwa-chan</span>
  <em>
    <span>.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tooru leaned his head back and to the side, giving more space for Hajime to work, a guttural moan ripping from his lips. “Shit, Ha-ah-jime!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I bet,” he murmured, “that you will lose to me.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ve said that several times now,” Tooru replied, a shudder going through his body at the feeling of his husband’s breath on the bruise, blossoming red. “But what are you actually betting? We do have to agree for it to become a bet.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hajime pulled away to look Tooru directly in the eye, hovering over him. “I bet ten kisses on it. Long, sloppy kisses. And maybe a quickie. Loser has to give them. Also, if you win, we can watch that one space documentary you wanted to watch, but since that’s not gonna happen, we’ll end up watching </span>
  </em>
  <span>Godzilla vs. SpaceGodzilla </span>
  <em>
    <span>instead.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What?!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You brought it up!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I cannot believe I’m agreeing to this,” Tooru said, “but fine. And you can bet we’re watching the launch tomorrow, too, I don’t care if it goes up at five in the morning. We will be watching it when I win.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“When? Baby, please, you’re not gonna win.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ve hit my spikes, Hajime. Remember how easy I make it?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, and when was the last time you actually managed to receive one of my spikes?” Hajime countered. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A moment of silence passed between them while Tooru stared at him, not wanting to admit that he was right. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Exactly,” Hajime whispered. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fine, whatever,” Tooru relented. “Kiss on it?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sure,” Hajime agreed. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And then you fix this problem you started.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fine,” Hajime chuckled, his breath brushing past Tooru’s bitten red lips, before pressing closer, against them. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So you see, Tooru cannot lose this bet, not with the NASA launch in a day. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And </span>
  </em>
  <span>the New Horizons documentary. He needs to watch them both. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their footsteps echo along the corridor until they reach the main gymnasium. There’s general murmuring from down on the gym floor, cameras getting ready and reporters finding their places way ahead of time. The net is set up, the dividing line between “the clash of titans”, the city’s media is calling it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(“So then is this technically Attack on Titan?” Tooru had mused when he first saw the headline. “Can I be Eren?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Idiot, Levi is so much cooler.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re right, I’ll be Armin. He has a brain.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Still not as cool as Levi, but alright.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you say, Iwa-chan.” A pause, and then “Armin is still badass though.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right, and here’s the modern live action Attack on Titan,” Hajime said, whacking Tooru upside the head and laughing as his hair floofed out in places it shouldn’t have. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not fuckin’ funny!” Tooru hollered, launching himself at Hajime. “I’ll show </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> Attack on Titan!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yeah. There were a lot of bruises to be had that night.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They back out of the gym before anyone can see them, two pro volleyball players walking hand in hand. They’d make the headlines off at least one sports magazine, for sure. Not the first thing they need right before a big game. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> they need right before a big game, though? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you have enough water?” Hajime asks, gently squeezing Tooru’s fingers to get his attention. “Protein bars? Carbs? I can’t have you passing out on the day of our fated battle.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you stop being so dramatic for two seconds? I’m a professional, have some faith in me!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re also a dumbass whom I have had the fortune of knowing and misfortune of taking care of for the past twenty years, Tooru,” Hajime deadpans, ignoring the faux glare Tooru was sending him. “Do you have your protein bars?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Iwa-chan, I have the protein bars,” Tooru replies, rolling his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good. Eat one now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tooru. Have you had anything since three pancakes and five strawberries at breakfast.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well… no, but—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Iwaizumi Tooru, I swear to all that is holy—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey Iwaizumi-san, Iw- Oikawa-san!” a new voice calls from down the hall. “You’re here kind of early, aren’t you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru grins as Hajime leans away. “Akane-chan! Perfect timing!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The young journalist-in-training walks up to them, her hair bouncing behind her. She slides a hairtie off of her wrist and ties her hair back before speaking again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’re you two doing here so early?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oikawa was getting nervous,” Hajime replies easily. “Figured there was no point in waiting.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have you picked a side, Akane-chan?” Tooru cuts in before his husband can make him look worse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Akane shrugs, adjusting her backpack on her shoulders. “Figured you would ask me that, also figured there wasn’t much of a point. There’s an obvious right answer with you, Oikawa-san!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru rolls his eyes with a smile on his lips and a laugh bubbling in his throat. “I mean, obviously. My team’s gonna win.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes we are, Iwa-chan!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Akane giggles. “I’m supposed to represent an unbiased source!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A little bias towards me never hurt anyone, Akane-chan!” Tooru winces as he feels Hajime’s hand connect with the back of his head again. “Never hurt anyone except me, apparently,” he amends, hand combing through his hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll leave you two to… whatever this is,” Akane laughs, heading down the stairs to the gym floor with a little wave. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nice of her to keep our cover,” Hajime muses, his arms crossed over his - unfairly - broad chest. He looks like he’s deep in thought, brows furrowed and mouth pulled into a taut line. “Tooru, are you sure about this?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shrugs and nods, lips tilting up into a soft smile. “I left the other jersey at home.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime nods slowly. “Okay.” He pulls Tooru into a hug, gently kissing his cheek before pulling away. “Okay.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Tooru giggles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They part at the bottom of the stairs. The home team locker rooms are to the left, and the guest team to the right, so while Tooru originally follows his husband - fingers still laced together - to the left, he realises his mistake as soon as he sees the sign on the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime laughs at Tooru’s retreating back, to which he doesn’t even turn around to flip his middle finger up, giggling lightly as his husband bends at the waist with laughter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re still there quite early, he realises as the door shuts behind him, the locker room silent save the soft hum of the not entirely efficient lights. Oh well. Better early than late. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walks to locker number 14 (his high school number and his husband’s high school number together, he uses locker 14 or 41 whenever he can because he’s sentimental like that, don’t you dare judge him) and stuffs his sports duffel into it, pulling at the zipper until it reveals the jersey so neatly folded at the top. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He runs his fingers along the white lettering on the back, smiling as the navy fabric slides around under his fingers. He rids himself of his streetwear to tug the jersey over his head. It fits just right, loose on his arms and his neck but appropriately tight on his chest and torso. He can feel the “Iwaizumi” spanning his back, stiff atop the softer fabric. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door opens, followed by footsteps over to where Tooru is standing. “Damn, you’re here early,” his teammate says, an underlying laugh in his voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“People keep saying that,” Tooru replies with a shake of his head. “I feel like I’m not actually that early.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I’m here early, and you were here earlier than me, therefore you’re exceptionally early.” He sets his stuff down a couple of lockers away from where Tooru stands, shucking his jacket off of his arms. “New jersey?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, new last name,” Tooru comments with a wink. “I think I like it better this way.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Iwaizumi,” the other murmurs. “No more Oikawa? I feel like the new guys barely remembered that to begin with, and now you’re throwing something harder at them?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru scoffs. “Going from calling me “Kawa-san” to “Iwa-san” shouldn’t be that much of a change.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A look of realisation dawns on the other man’s face, and he slowly turns to face Tooru with a smile on his face. “I get it! I see now, you married your Iwa-chan!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Colour immediately fills Tooru’s ears and the back of his neck, the pinkish hue a sharp contrast to the navy of his jersey. “That doesn’t mean you can call </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> Iwa-chan now, though!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Iwa-chan,” he replies, cackling at the deodorant thrown at him a moment later. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Any further projectiles are waylaid by the entrance of the team captain, who nods at the two of them. “Punctual, for once.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The locker room quickly fills with the rest of the team. Tooru hadn’t actually been </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> early, after all. Within the span of an hour, everyone on the team has changed into their uniform, smacked Tooru on the back at </span>
  <em>
    <span>least </span>
  </em>
  <span>twice while congratulating him on his marriage, and managed to ruffle his hair so much that he feels almost unrecognisable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it’s no matter, really, he’s about to face his husband on their fated battlefield. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(“Seriously, who </span>
  <em>
    <span>writes </span>
  </em>
  <span>this stuff? Titans, battlefields?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Someone desperate for drama, I guess,” Hajime replied, threading his fingers through Tooru’s hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Damn, too bad we’re not that dramatic, huh?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime began to pull Tooru’s hair up into a spiked mohawk, humming in response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I fucking despise you,” Tooru said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See? And who was it that said we’re not that dramatic?”) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As soon as Tooru steps onto the court, he feels like he’s at home. Hajime often talks about the volleyball court being the natural habitat of the wild Tooru, but there is some basis to that claim. Tooru will always feel more comfortable in the court than, say, at a post-match press conference. (Seriously, why do those even exist? Why is it not enough to simply finish the game? Tooru doesn’t want to talk about the tub of ice cream he’s going home to, thank you very much.) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His team warms up first, and Tooru takes the time to get the lay of the land. Anything that could be troublesome, anything that could prove difficult for him or his spikers, anything that could get in the way of his victory is documented and taken note of. The ceiling is high, but probably only a little higher than the gym in Argentina. The lights could be an issue, and the floor has high friction against his shoes. Perfect, that means that he’ll have more traction when he jumps for the dump he’s going to execute while Hajime is in the front. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They go through their usual routine, Tooru pointing things out and making sure that the team is ready for a game, the other players smacking him on the ass as they pass by. Oh, if Hajime was on his side of the net… he would not put up with even one more touch from these guys, Tooru thinks with a gentle chuckle as the other team takes the court. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And speaking of Hajime, the man himself walks onto the court, stretching those beautifully toned arms across his chest. He’s looking to the side, chatting with a teammate, and then his eyes catch Tooru’s. He stops mid-laugh, and his eyes rake up and down the navy uniform over pale skin. His eyes turn lidded and his grin morphs into a smirk for the briefest of moments before he swings his other arm over his chest to stretch it out, pretending nothing happened. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru can’t lie that the opposition cuts a threatening figure, solid sets followed by merciless spikes, all sleeveless jerseys and biceps on display and </span>
  <em>
    <span>holy shit Hajime could pin him down so easily—</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A ball smacks the ground not too far ahead of him, and bounces over the barrier and into the bleachers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Got it,” Tooru calls with a wave, leaping over the barrier like it’s nothing and searching for the stray ball. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He finds the ball nestled nicely down the third row of bleachers, and two things come to mind in a split second. First, he could just get the ball and send it back; they aren’t in want of balls to spike but it is theirs anyway. He could, otherwise, put on a bit of a show. Second, if he and Hajime are going to tell the world they’re married anyways… there’s no point in not having a little fun. Maybe he’ll get more than a quickie tonight, as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is a dumb idea,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tooru has time to thing, before he’s bending at the waist to grab the ball, ass high in the air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It at least has the intended effect. Before long there are hoots and hollers, even some whistles. Tooru takes a deep breath before standing with the ball in his hands, looking over at the team in red. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime is looking directly at him, the tips of his ears well on their way to rivalling the colour of his jersey. His arms are by his sides, and his hands are clenched into fists. He’s standing so tight, so awkwardly, that Tooru can’t help but spare a laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was a good spike, Iwa-chan!” he calls, tossing the ball back towards his embarrassed husband. Hajime doesn’t move, only continues staring at the floor while his teammates smack him on the back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>More than satisfied with a dumb idea coming to full fruition, he turns to head back to where his team is. He’s met with dropped jaws and vacant stares; the libero looks like he’s seen a ghost. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You guys okay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“T-Tooru,” one manages. “You… he… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Iwa-chan?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then all of them begin to talk at once. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t tell us your Iwa-chan was Iwaizumi Hajime!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Seriously, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the</span>
  </em>
  <span> Iwaizumi Hajime!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That guy’s been my role models for </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span> now—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t just happen to </span>
  <em>
    <span>forget </span>
  </em>
  <span>to mention that your, your </span>
  <em>
    <span>husband</span>
  </em>
  <span> is Iwaizumi fucking Hajime!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, okay,” Tooru says in an attempt to be heard over everyone talking. “Guys! Yes, that’s my Iwa-chan, honestly if you knew him </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>would be more likely to be a role model—” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tooru!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hajime yells from across the court. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru ignores him. “I must have really forgotten to mention that it was Iwaizumi </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hajime</span>
  </em>
  <span> that was my Iwa-chan, and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> Iwaizumi fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hajime is </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Any questions?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s silence. And then they all start talking at once, but it’s not even just his team, because now Hajime’s team is shouting questions over to him as well, as well as some of the media representatives. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who proposed?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did Iwaizumi cry?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When was it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did Iwa-san make </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>decisions about the wedding?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does he always turn red when he’s embarrassed?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru turns at that one, watching as his husband turns entirely red. “You wanted to make headlines,” he calls, laughing. He doubles over when they start slapping Hajime on the back and he doesn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>react, </span>
  </em>
  <span>still in sort of a state of shock. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, guys, pull yourselves together please,” the coach says as he nears his team. “We have a game to win!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I understand now why they were actually calling it the clash of titans,” the libero mutters. “It’s an Iwaizumi on Iwaizumi game.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru smirks. “Well, Iwaizumi Tooru is never on the losing side, don’t worry.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>The entire team looks at him incredulously, unimpressed. “Against </span><em><span>Iwaizumi</span></em> <em><span>Hajime?” </span></em></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru rolls his eyes then. “Whatever! Let’s get this show on the road!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The show is indeed very quickly on the road. The thing about volleyball games is that they don’t take up too much time. A single volley can only last so long. And that’s how, hardly five minutes later, they’re already down; four points to one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru’s in the front row when Hajime rotates up. A small smirk appears on his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How kind of you to join me,” Tooru whispers while the server is prepping. “Didn’t think you’d make it this far.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, please. You’ve barely moved!” Hajime hisses in return, springing into action as the ball sails over the net. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a nice receive, and Tooru notes the blockers in the centre and sends it to the left. The ball smacks the floor; point for Tooru’s team. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rotates over a spot, calling out a “nice serve!” in anticipation and shooting a wink to Hajime, who rolls his eyes in return. The ball goes over, there’s a receive, and then a harsh spike directly against the block; it’s a blockout. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime rotates up a position, directly in front of Tooru again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, pretty boy,” Tooru murmurs. “Bet you can’t score this next point.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“An extra kiss, you’re fucking on.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t do it, Hajime,” Tooru says so only Hajime heard. “They won’t send the ball to you, it’s too early in the game. They don’t need you yet.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see,” Hajime replies, eyes on the ball as it flies over to his side of the net. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A solid receive, a smooth set, and a spike, received by the libero. “Nice receive!” Tooru calls, sending it to the person least likely to get blocked, and most prepared to spike. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One touch,” a blocker from the other team yells, and then Tooru feels it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime, staring at him, hungry. It’s like time stops. They make eye contact, and Tooru knows exactly what’s about to happen, but his body doesn’t have time to react. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Center,” Hajime says, his eyes still on Tooru before he breaks away and time resumes. Hajime is jumping before the ball is even set to him, and the following spike brushes past Tooru’s hair before fully settling into the ground and bouncing away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s silence before the crowd erupts into cheers. Hajime sends a smirk Tooru’s way before joining his team in a circle and getting his back slapped several times. Tooru’s not jealous. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well. If it’s going to be like that, then fine. He’ll just have to reschedule the setter dump. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It happens when they’re down by three and the other team is at set point. They could really use a couple of points, lest they lose the first set to the team in red. And sleeveless. Criminally lacking in sleeves. Honestly, how is Tooru supposed to concentrate when the love of his life is out here looking like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>all toned and tan and shit? The audacity. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Never one to be deterred - even if it is a temptation like the view of his husband’s biceps - Tooru jumps like he’s going to set, and flicks the ball over the net at the last possible second. He even almost managed to entirely fool Hajime, who is just a split second too late in receiving. The ball goes to the side, and the point goes to Tooru’s team. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The glare Hajime sends his way is absolutely worth it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Iwaizumi, stop checking out the setter,” the captain from the other team laughs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The glare that Hajime turns on him is even more worth it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They lose the first set, take the second and third, and lose the fourth. They’re making full use of all five sets, which isn’t unexpected but it’s maybe a little unwelcome. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thing is… Tooru is kinda hard. He’s been watching and teasing and getting teased by his husband all game - seriously, the lack of sleeves on their jerseys is concerning - and has come to the brilliant and stunning conclusion that yes, Hajime is still hot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He excuses himself to the bathroom at the start of the fifteen minutes they have between the fourth and the final set, hoping to relieve the tightness building in his shorts. He jogs towards the bathroom, unwilling to take any chances with the amount of time he has. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tooru,” a familiar voice calls, and oh boy this will either make everything easier or exponentially harder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Hajime?” he replies without stopping. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You should talk to your coach about a uniform change.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That gets Tooru’s attention. He comes to a stop just a few metres away from the bathroom, befuddled by the request. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Huh?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Those shorts are entirely too short,” Hajime explains, stepping closer. “And far too tight.” He slides a hand around his waist and tugs him closer. “I just don’t think that you should be playing in them. Not only are they restricting your movement, they’re also a huge distraction for both teams.” His hand traces down from the small of his back to his ass, tightly squeezing one cheek. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Funny you should mention it, I just thought that my shorts were getting a little tight myself,” Tooru replies, pointedly stepping towards the bathroom and twisting out of his husband’s grip. “And I can pinpoint exactly where the fault lies.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bathroom’s empty, good. At least one thing is going right today. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime grips at his shoulders and pushes him against the wall, beginning an attack on his neck. The hickey from the previous night hasn’t faded at all, and while that was was able to be mostly covered by the collar of his shirt, Hajime picks the area right above that one for the new hickey. It’s going to be so obvious, a new bruise blossoming red on the side of his neck, completely out in the open for everyone to see. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh well. It’s not like Tooru can </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything about it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shall we find a more private place?” Hajime murmurs lowly, the hot breath hitting the shell of Tooru’s ear making him shiver. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods in agreement; he’s fully hard now and needs to get it taken care of, lest he try to continue playing with a raging hardon. (He’s tried it before, sort of, just sending the ball back and forth in the comfort of their home… it didn’t go well. Hajime noticed and got both distracted and a swollen lip.) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stumble into the stall at the far end of the bathroom, and Hajime immediately slips his hand under the waistband of Tooru’s shorts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I have to get longer shorts then you have to wear a jersey with sleeves,” Tooru muses with a low groan as Hajime palms the head of his cock. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll wear arm sleeve… guard… things,” Hajime agrees. “They don’t make our jerseys with sleeves. Besides, I can’t look stupid being the only one out there with sleeves on his jersey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You do know you wearing the arm sleeves would just make me more distracted, right?” Tooru bucks up into the tight heat of Hajime’s hand, biting his lips to keep his whimpers to a minimum. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime groans in his ear. “You’re fucking kidding, Tooru.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, not at all.” His cock dribbles out some precum, decreasing the friction against Hajime’s hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Hajime mutters lowly, hand sliding faster. “How the fuck would arm sleeves make you more distracted?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru shoves his knuckles against his lips before hissing out a response. “You seem to have missed out on the wonderful stories I had the privilege of hearing from Aka-chan, about how rough it was with Bokkun wearing those thigh high knee guards.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just as well, really,” Hajime replies, gently squeezing the base of Tooru’s dick, “but what does that have to do with this?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Iwa-cha</span>
  <em>
    <span>-ah-</span>
  </em>
  <span>an, you fail to realise that a full arm guard would leave tantalising bits of skin that I want to mark up and clam, not to mention the fact that they would perfectly outline your bice- ahhh, Iwa-chan, that feels so good Iwa-chan!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut the hell up, Shittykawa,” Hajime hisses, going back to sucking the hickey into Tooru’s skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then stop- oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span> stop </span>
  <em>
    <span>chewing </span>
  </em>
  <span>on my neck! What the fuck, Hajime?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t talk about marking up and expect me not to want to do the same to you!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a brief moment where the only sound is the wet slide of Hajime’s hand, and Tooru shudders, eyes shut tight and mouth open in a silent gasp. He’s already unreasonably close, the heat in his abdomen growing and growing, coiling tighter, the dual sensation of the assault on his neck and the hand on his dick driving him towards the edge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Hajime whispers against Tooru’s neck. His other hand rucks up Tooru’s jersey, and he lightly scrapes his nails along his torso until he reaches his pectoral. He smooths over the skin there and pinches at a nipple, tugging gently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s what does Tooru in. The heat in his stomach builds, the coil in his abdomen snaps, and he’s cumming pearly white strings along Hajime’s tan hand. He groans at the contrast, and arches his back as his husband strokes him through his orgasm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you need to--” Tooru murmurs once he’s come down from his high. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Hajime replies, “but we gotta hurry up, there’s not a ton of time left.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Tooru mouths, and then he drops to his knees and pulls at Hajime’s shorts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He groans and pulls himself out of his jock strap, already fully hard; the head is swollen and leaking, and Tooru can’t help but surge forward to press an open mouthed kiss to the slit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Christ, Tooru,” Hajime moans quietly as he licks around the head of his cock. Before too long, Tooru’s taking him down his throat entirely, swallowing around him and humming at the sensation of the heavy weight in his mouth, no gag reflex to be spoken of. “So good-!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru bobs his head a couple of times and hollows his cheeks as he sucks, gently fisting his spent cock between his legs as Hajime presses one hand to the back of his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other hand goes to his mouth in an attempt to keep himself quiet, which becomes increasingly difficult as he gets closer to his orgasm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru pulls back and looks up at his husband with watery eyes, his mouth hanging open and tongue lolling out, the edges of his mouth turned up in a smile because he knows the effect he has on Hajime. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lets out a low moan and then he’s cumming in Tooru’s mouth, who waits patiently until he’s finished to close his mouth and swallow with a slight hint of a wince. He stands there for a moment longer, breathing heavily as he watches the tears at the corners of Tooru’s eyes dry in the air. “We should clean up,” he says, carding his fingers through the back of Tooru’s hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does that count as the quickie, then? Is it just ten long, sloppy kisses?” Tooru asks once he’s confident he can talk again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eleven for you, once you lose. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>Godzilla vs. SpaceGodzilla.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not gonna lose!” Tooru stands and bends backwards with his arms over his head, popping his back until he sighs. “Why are you so confident I’m gonna lose?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because I’m gonna distract you at the last point, and then I’m going to tug you forward by the front of your jersey, and then I’m going to come to your side of the net, and I’m going to kiss you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru blinks a couple of times, working up a response to his husband’s confidence. “Worked it all out, have you?” he asks, stepping out of the stall and over to the sink, grabbing a paper towel to wipe over his face. God, he’s so flushed and dishevelled, everyone would know exactly what happened if he went out looking like this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime seems to think the same thing, because he grabs a paper towel to run under cold water and press against the back of Tooru’s neck. He also runs his fingers through his hair in an attempt to get it to go back to what it looked like before he mussed it up. “I have. I’m confident in my assumption, as well.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So what are the winning lottery numbers?” Tooru asks, rubbing at his mouth and spitting into the sink a couple of times. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ha, ha,” Hajime deadpans. He tucks Tooru’s jersey back into his shorts, which Tooru immediately pulls back out so he can tuck it in himself. “I’m just looking forward to the face of defeat.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh? And what does that look like?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Hajime starts. “You sort of have this pout, you purse your lips when you’re upset and it’s more pronounced when you lose a match. And that’s the pout that I’m going to kiss away.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Iwa-chan’s a sap, we get it,” Tooru mumbled, making sure his jersey looked proper. He ruffled his fingers through his hair, getting it back to somewhere at least close to his standard, and then turns to his husband. “You look a mess,” he says with a smile, leaning up against the counter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why? Want me to make you look like even more of one?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not--” Tooru says, and that’s all he gets out before Hajime’s lips are against his, kissing him senseless. It quickly turns heated, sloppy, and the sounds they’re making out of context would be… somewhat worrisome, but given that Tooru is on the receiving end of it, he’s not worried at all. The kiss trails down from his mouth to his jaw, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow okay that first bite is going to leave a bruise--</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We have to get back, we’re running out of time,” Hajime winces as he pulls back. There’s a string of saliva that connects them before it breaks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You absolute bastard,” Tooru says, hitting Hajime’s shoulder and sliding off of the counter, stalking directly out the door. Once he’s out, he jogs back to the gym, where the clock is counting down. There’s a minute left, thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>god.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See you on the court,” Hajime grins as he passes Tooru, slapping him on the ass. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You jerk,” Tooru calls in response, getting only a wave and the sight of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Iwaizumi</span>
  </em>
  <span> lettering stretched over an ungodly broad back bounce away from him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Iwaizumi! Kind of you to join us again,” the captain startles him with a knowing smirk. “Got it out of your system?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Give me a little warning before you call me Iwaizumi next time, please,” Tooru laughs, grabbing a mint from next to his water bottle. He often uses them to calm down and focus, but now they obviously have another purpose. “And yeah, I feel a lot better now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Glad to hear it. We’re shuffling the rotation a little so you’re up to serve first, think you can handle it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know I can.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I like to hear.” The team goes into a huddle and talks through their game plan, though at this point they’re pretty much all thinking the same thing; win. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They probably all have their own reasons for wanting to win, Tooru thinks. But a lot of them probably have to do with Iwaizumi Hajime. And, well. It’s not like he’s an exception. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The whistle blows for Tooru’s serve, and he takes a moment to acknowledge where he wants to send it. On the other side of the net, Hajime holds up nine fingers. Tooru shakes his head, he can’t afford to have that distraction, and he starts his run up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A service ace; the first point of the match is theirs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the match does not go as planned. They’re behind, thirteen points to eight, when Hajime finally ends up across from Tooru. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What was that nine about?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You held up nine fingers. What was that about?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime covers the back of his neck with his hands, a smirk playing at his lips. “You’ll see.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The game ends with Tooru’s team losing anyway. They’re both still in the front of the rotation, which seems to work well for Hajime’s master plan, as he slips under the net, grabs the front of Tooru’s jersey, and pulls him into a very short and chaste but heated kiss to the eruption of the crowd remaining around them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Iwaizumi Hajime, how could you </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibly</span>
  </em>
  <span> have guessed that we would only get nine points?” Tooru asks once the match is over. He left the locker room with permission from the captain, untucked his jersey and grabbed his jacket (it’s actually Hajime’s, so it’s big on him because he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>so damn broad</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the shoulders), and stormed down to the other locker room to find his husband. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lucky guess,” Hajime replies with a wide grin. “I think it’s also the number of kisses that you owe me, in addition to the eleven you already did.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ,” Tooru mutters, dropping his face to his hands. “I cannot believe you’re making me sit through that goddamned movie again.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that bad!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Again!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime laughs while the other members of his team stare at the two of them, gathering him in a hug. He pulls at his left hand and kisses the ring that made it back to its proper spot once the game finished. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I cannot do this anymore, Hajime,” Tooru wails, putting on a show for everyone watching, while also discouraging them from looking any longer. He tucks his face against Hajime’s neck, clamping his jaw on the thick column and sucking a dark hickey into the warm skin. “You smell good,” he muses, completely off topic. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well it’s good to know that the soap you got me works,” Hajime replies, pressing a tender kiss to his temple. “Now, how about we both get dressed and go home, and you can have your tub of ice cream while we watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>Godzilla vs. SpaceGodzilla?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru leans back to glare at him. “Fine,” he agrees, “but only if I get to eat the mango one.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah you’re in that mood tonight, huh?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of the guys on Hajime’s team - he’s only wearing shorts, with a towel slung around his neck; Tooru can practically feel Hajime wanting to cover his eyes for him - snickers and comments. “How the hell can you tell his mood just from what ice cream he wants?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ve been best friends for twenty years now,” Hajime replies with a shrug. “I’d hope I could at </span>
  <em>
    <span>least</span>
  </em>
  <span> do that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s a long time to put up with anyone,” the guy mutters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I think we hope to be married for as long as possible, so.” Hajime presses one last kiss to Tooru’s cheek, and smacks him on the ass as he leaves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru flips his middle finger up at his husband without turning around, stalking out of the locker room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hears Hajime say something about </span>
  <em>
    <span>“that ass is attached to my husband, don’t even think about--”</span>
  </em>
  <span> before he’s cut off by the door swinging shut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The journey home is somewhat long and arduous. Tooru keeps picking at the hem of his shorts in an effort to keep his hands to himself. Hajime’s wearing a damn muscle tee, he looks good enough to </span>
  <em>
    <span>eat,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but they’re also on public transportation and making out with his husband right now is not actually the best idea he’s had. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows Hajime can feel it, too, though. The hand on his waist tightens at every bump in the road, and Tooru wants </span>
  <em>
    <span>more. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But he’s still not getting it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They finally get to their stop, walk back to their house in a tense, charged silence, and as soon as the door is shut Hajime has Tooru pinned against it. He pulls at his bag, his jacket, his shirt, until Tooru’s left naked on his top half, back arching as his warm skin makes contact with the cold door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s hardly any light left outside, but they don’t have anything going on the next day besides training. If nothing else, they’ve earned this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stumble through the house until they get to their room, clothes discarded along the way, and Hajime pushes Tooru against the wall to attach to his neck once more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Christ, Iwa-chan, I thought I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>- oh, fuck -</span>
  </em>
  <span> supposed to be the one giving the kisses?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hajime hums, still sucking spot after spot into Tooru’s skin, moving down to his collarbone to mark the yet unblemished skin there as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hajime, I can’t give you kisses if your mouth is on--” he’s cut off by a low whine as his husband sucks on his nipple, bringing it to full attention. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Hajime!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wanna shower?” Hajime murmurs, standing fully upright again to look Tooru in the eye. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru barely manages a nod before Hajime is picking him up and carrying him to the bathroom. He turns on the overhead shower and immediately presses Tooru’s back against the wall, making him cry out as the cold tile impresses itself on still-warm skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With Tooru pinned pretty safely between Hajime’s hips and the wall, that leaves his hands free. While the water cascades down on top of them, Hajime’s fingers find his hole, and he easily slips one finger inside. Tooru grabs for the silicone-based lube they keep in the room - disguised as a bottle of soap, lest suspicions arise - and pours some over Hajime’s fingers to ease the slide. Before too long, Hajime has three fingers inside him, gently pressed against his prostate, while the other hand works at his chest. Tooru doesn’t even attempt to cover his moans, letting them instead echo around the room, unabashed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The water is so hot that the skin of Hajime’s back feels like it’s getting redder by the minute, while the effect is actually visible on Tooru’s cheeks. His voice increases in volume still, and while his cheeks would normally be pink by now they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>red,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the steam from the shower making sweat bead at his hairline. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ready?” Hajime whispers against Tooru’s cheek, barely audible above the steady sound of the shower. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A frantic nod is followed by a small gasp as Hajime slips his fingers out, quickly replaced by the head of his cock. They both moan low in their throats, Hajime with his forehead pressed against Tooru’s shoulder, Tooru’s head tilted back against the tile of the wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have been waiting for this so damn long, Iwa-chan,” Tooru whines, “please, </span>
  <em>
    <span>move-!”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His voice chokes off at Hajime’s first thrust. It’s exactly what he needed, honestly, fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A full day of teasing and flirting and getting his ass smacked has crescendoed into this moment, where they’re finally together in the most intimate way. Hajime’s lips find Tooru’s and they share a tender kiss while the water falls around them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Still can’t believe you roped me into this,” Tooru sighs, sitting back on the couch with his tub of mango  ice cream while Hajime slides the dvd into the player and adjusts the sound settings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We made a bet,” his husband replies with a shrug. “Gotta adhere to the bet!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re so lucky I love you.” He begins his assault on the ice cream, tongue working around the cold spoon as he sucks the treat into his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Hajime sits down next to him and plants a kiss on his cheek, tossing the blanket over both of them and pulling Tooru into his side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At some point during the movie, Tooru gets distracted. The whole idea of a clone of a radioactive monster somehow emerging from space doesn’t much appeal to him, so he begins the second part of his bet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’re you doin’?” Hajime slurs, half asleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fulfilling the bet, dumbass. Twenty sloppy kisses, was it?” The first kiss is pressed to his jaw, and that’s all it takes before Hajime is once again distracted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time the movie is done, Tooru’s only completed seventeen of the twenty kisses, leaving a trail of bites along Hajime’s bare chest, down to the waistband of his sweats slung low on his hips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They end up back where they started at the beginning of the day, wrapped around each other in their bed. The ice cream is gone, the television is off, Tooru’s phone is plugged in for the night. They’ve brushed their teeth, tossed water at each other while Tooru tried to do his nightly skin routine, and now they’re once more pressed together under the cover. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three kisses left, Tooru thinks. Given how late it is, he thinks Hajime will forgive him if the last kisses aren’t sloppy. He presses the first to Hajime’s forehead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” he whispers, grasping for Hajime’s hand and bringing his knuckles up to his mouth. He kisses the tungsten ring around his husband’s finger, closing his eyes as he feels the warm metal against his lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hajime.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last kiss is shared like they’ve never shared a kiss before. Slow, hesitant, halting. It gradually becomes more personal, their lips sliding together in a practised pattern. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hajime,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tooru murmurs again, the name like a reverent prayer on his lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tooru,” comes the response, and then they’re kissing again, warm and chaste, grasping at each other, licking into each other’s mouths. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tooru’s right where he wants to be, pressed against his husband’s side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(And yes, he still wakes up at four in the morning, to watch the launch on his phone. He wasn’t expecting the arm around his waist and the chin hooked over his shoulder, the hot breath on his neck and the warm kisses on his cheek, but it’s definitely more than welcome. They watch the new era of space exploration take off together, and when Hajime tries to bring up SpaceGodzilla, Tooru shuts him up with a kiss. Maybe that’s a conversation that they could have at a time later than four o’clock in the morning.)</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>jkfsdljksf hbd Mira!! I hope your day was great despite how many times I spammed you with messages and updates on the fic </p><p>u can follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/biscuityskies">twt</a> and watch me scream about hq (generally iwaoi) daily :')</p></blockquote></div></div>
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